


so true (to you)

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bodyguard, F/M, Modern Royalty, Princes & Princesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Jemma probably relies more on her bodyguard than she should -- but he's never let her down.</p>
<p>Princess & Bodyguard Biospecialist AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so true (to you)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "drunk kiss" on tumblr.

Jemma is trying not to yawn with all of her not inconsiderable mental power, but she knows she’s going to because she was up the previous night working on a new chemical compound and lost track of time. She’s working on only about an hour and a half of sleep, which is not ideal, but needs must. 

She had a _very_ cold shower this morning and has consumed approximately her own weight in tea already – which has kept her upright so far, but it’s starting to wear off – and it’s only lunch time! She has been yawning all day already, unsurprisingly, but now she’s talking to Prince Loki and she has a suspicion that her yawning would be a great offense today. (She’s rather under the impression that he is simply causing trouble, because sometimes he’s virtually impossible to offend and others he’s got a hair trigger.)

It seems her luck that today would be one of the latter variety of moods and so she doesn’t want to risk it. Especially not when he’s to be her escort for the ball later that evening. There is nothing worse than a sulking, offended Asgardian Prince, after all. (Admittedly, a sulking Thor might be even worse sulking than Loki, but neither is pleasant – and Thor won’t be sulking tonight as Lady Jane was able to make time in her research schedule to come into the city to witness the re-signing of the Peace Treaty and attend the ball, so instead of sulking he’s been obnoxiously cheerful all day. Which might, come to think of it, be why Loki is ready to take offense – she cannot blame him as a Thor walking on clouds can be more than slightly intolerable.)

When he’s not sulking, Loki is, however, an ideal date. Polite, intelligent, and absolutely not interested in her. They don’t work in precisely the same fields of science, but his work with neurology is always deeply interesting to her, and they’ve collaborated on more than one occasion. So she has to just not yawn and not offend him.

Easy.

Probably.

She’s just debating how to best excuse herself from the conversation – she normally doesn’t mind talking to him, but when sleep deprived trying to keep up with his slightly cruel sense of humor is rough – and she’s going to fail at fighting back her yawns sooner or later – when her bodyguard slips her a sealed envelope. She blinks at the seal for a moment before smiling at Loki. “If you would excuse me, it’s from my father.”

He waves her away gracefully, and turns towards the buffet.

She hurries into a nearby alcove, yawning widely enough that her jaw creaks. Ward – her bodyguard – follows her. Once there, her back to the party but making sure she is still visible, she turns the letter over in her hands and yawns again. Ward slips the letter from her with some slight of hand that never fails to impress her, no matter how many times she’s seen him do it.

“Thank you,” she says, yawning yet again.

He makes his standard hum that she translates as everything from ‘stop bothering me’, to ‘you’re welcome’ to ‘I have no idea what you’re saying was any of that even English?’ and turns away for a moment. When he turns back he has a cup in his hands. It takes her tired brain a moment to realize he must have requested it from the kitchen, but by then she’s already holding the espresso in her hands and inhaling it.

She’s still not entirely sure _where_ Ward has gotten the sealed envelope from her father, but he only uses it for situations like this and always to her advantage so she’s never brought it up. Even if he really shouldn’t have something with the royal seal on it. Not that she doesn’t trust him – she literally trusts him with her life every day – it’s just the moral of the thing.

But still, she appreciates it – and him – too much to cause a fuss.

“I could kiss you, Ward,” she says as she hands the cup back to him.

“Not my color,” he says, thumb rubbing where her lipstick has smudged the edge of the cup and she can’t help but grin at him.

“Yes,” she agrees, “you’re much more a summer than an autumn.”

He pauses, utterly still, and stares at her for a moment before stating, decisively, “You have no idea what that means.”

“Not a clue,” she admits cheerfully, before yawning again. “I don’t suppose I have time to take a quick nap?” she asks, already knowing the answer before he shakes his head. “Pity,” she sighs.

He pulls a mirror from his pocket so she can touch up her face and practice a smile, it doesn’t reach her tired eyes but it’s the best she can do, and then she nods again in thanks – he hums – and she returns to the fray.

 

***

 

Jemma’s not surprised when she realizes she’s more than a little drunk. She’s only had two glasses of champagne, but she’s fairly positive the not alcoholic punch was spiked at some point – and she’s never able to eat as much as she’d like at these sorts of events. The last time she did she was twelve and the newspaper had spent three whole paragraphs discussing what a “healthy” appetite she had – while marveling that she wasn’t a much larger princess because of it. Which means she only ever picks and nibbles – which is usually fine, but she didn’t have time for a real lunch today and –

She’s definitely more than a little drunk. 

One of Thor’s bodyguards, Fandral, is flirting with her and instead of rolling her eyes or teasing him, she’s giggling and she can’t help herself – it’s like she can’t stop.

Loki left a few minutes ago – or maybe longer – time isn’t moving quite linearly for her right now, which she absolutely blames on the alcohol – but as her father is the one hosting she’s obligated to stay until the last of the party has wound down. Or, at least, she _feels_ obligated to stay.

Which would be more feasible if she could stop giggling.

“Princess,” Ward says, right at her side and she startles enough that he reaches out a broad hand to steady her. It’s the alcohol that makes her feel like he’s branding her through her dress, even though his hand is very respectably high on her back. “The Queen is looking for you.”

“Oh,” she says and turns her head, blinking. She doesn’t see mum anywhere, and before she can voice the thought that she thinks he might be lying, he’s using the hand on her back to guide her away from the small cluster of guests lingering and towards the private section of the castle. She thinks her mother has already headed to bed, although her father will remain until the last guest has left, but she doesn’t actually think he’s taking her to her mum.

He trades nods with the door guards, she waves and grins and she can see their lips twitch as they stay stoically forward, and once they’re through she leans more of her weight against him. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re drunk,” he says, dryly, and it’s the tone of voice she used to mistake for judgment but now she knows is concern.

“Yes,” she agrees readily, because she is, “but food will help. Does mum really want me?”

He makes that hum at her, but he’s guiding her to the kitchen so she assumes the answer is no. “What do you want to eat?" 

“Will you make me a grilled cheese?” she asks as she settles onto one of the stools that circle the island.

Ward doesn’t answer, but he starts to gather the ingredients so she assumes he will – and then he’s sliding a glass of water towards her. “Drink.”

“Yes, sir.” She salutes him and wrinkles her nose, and finds herself giggling helplessly for another moment at the look on his face.

He’s refilled her glass twice by the time he slides a perfect grilled cheese to her and settles at her side with his own sandwich.

“You make the best grilled cheeses,” she says, happily, around a mouthful of masticated bread and cheese. She tries not to eat like this around any of the other guards – talking with her mouthful and licking her fingers – but she’s too comfortable with Ward not to.

Even if he does eat ridiculously neatly – he’s taking a knife and fork to his grilled cheese and she just doesn’t understand. “Don’t let Bucky hear you say that,” he says, voice dry as a desert. Bucky is a great chef – but his grilled cheeses have just never matched up to the ones Ward will make her, late at night, and she’s not sure why.

She giggles again and leans against him, her sandwich is done, as he finishes his. 

“Come on, you need to get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” she says around a yawn, and then sits up and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek. She’s still drunk – she knows she is – if just because she never would’ve kissed him otherwise. Her lips catch the corner of his and he goes very still.

 “Princess,” he says once she’s pulled back, and it’s not a tone she recognizes, but when she looks he’s making his standard blank face at her and she tilts her head. “Bedtime.”

“’Kay.” He helps her to her feet and lets her lean most of her weight on his arm – her heels are low but she’d forgotten they’d hurt at all, which must mean the alcohol is wearing off somewhat. She really is terribly tired.

 

***

 

“Wait,” says Daisy, “what do you mean you’ve never met him?”

Jemma shrugs and looks critically at the dress on the mannequin. Daisy is to be her main bodyguard for the wedding – she’s young and friendly, and Jemma genuinely likes her, but she misses Ward at her side. He said he had to go home for a while to deal with a few things, but she thinks her parents must have sent him away for the wedding.

She can see why a groom might be intimidated by Ward.

She hopes, desperately, that he’ll be back once it’s over. It’s hard to imagine her life without him – she doesn’t want to.

“When we visited his family, I was fifteen at the time but he’s four years older than me I believe? Maybe five. And he’d enlisted in the military. So I didn’t get to meet him. I did meet his family though.” Jemma has been promised to the prince since she was nine – and she went through all the phases of loving it to loathing it before coming to understand the logic of the move. She will lead her country after her father and having support of another royal family can only help. Plus her parents were arranged and came to love each other deeply. So she understands, but she’s still more worried than she wants to admit. It had seemed so far away when she was nine – and even when she was fifteen. But she’s twenty-three now and the wedding is approaching faster than she could’ve ever thought. 

“And?” probes Daisy, pulling a possible bridesmaid dress off the rack and holding it in front of her. Jemma considers and nods and it gets added to the maybe pile. “What did you think of them?”

 “I don’t like the Crown Prince very much – he was very…off-putting. The youngest brother was kind – shy though. He had nothing but good things to say about my fiancé.” Jemma adds another dress to the maybe pile. As tradition dictates she’ll be wearing the dress her future mother-in-law choses, and she’s fairly sure the other woman isn’t going to pick something especially flattering so much as ostentatious, but she’ll make sure that her bridesmaids look lovely at least.

Daisy whistles and shakes her head. “How are you okay with this? Marrying someone you’ve never even met?”

“I have to,” she says, her serene public smile in place.

“Yeah, maybe.” Daisy is her friend, not just her bodyguard, and for a moment she is overcome with the urge to hug her fiercely – but then she continues and Jemma has to use the racks of dresses to hide her flaming face. “And if he’s really terrible, Ward’ll take him out and probably replace him, huh?”

“That’s not – that’s not funny,” Jemma says, and spitefully chooses a dress that is hideous to add to the maybe pile.

Ward has never been anything but professional with her and – she does trust that he’ll keep her safe. And if her consort were like his older brother instead of his younger she might need him to…but he’d never step over the boundaries that are so clearly drawn.

As much as she sometimes wishes he would. She’s only known him for four years, but when she thinks back it’s like he’s been there all along.

“Well,” Daisy says and wiggles her eyebrows, “if Ward won’t step up and replace him I guess I’ll have to.”

Jemma giggles and pushes lightly on Daisy’s shoulder before turning back to the dresses and putting her hands on her hips – they have to get this sorted. “How do you feel about eggplant?”

“For dinner?” Daisy wrinkles her nose and Jemma laughs again.

 

***

 

Her dress is large and poufy and Jemma feels like she’s drowning in it. It’s dripping with gems and is, most certainly, the heaviest thing she’s ever worn. She’s going to have bruises on her hips from where the corset digs in to support the weight of the thing for certain – but she’s not going to behave like it. She tips her chin up high, the tiara she’s wearing digging into her head slightly, and takes a deep breath.

She thought she was going to meet her groom before this moment – they’ve been here for six days already. But apparently his family is even more traditional than she’d anticipated and they insisted on a weeklong isolation before the wedding. So not only has she not been able to meet her groom but also she’s been stuck the tower room. Admittedly, anyone not of the groom’s family was free to visit her, but it still grates.

They went over the protocol countless times, but she still finds going over it in her own mind soothing. Her bridesmaids will be walking out in a few moments, she’ll wait for the musical cue, then join her groom at the entrance way and they’ll enter together on the downbeat.

She’s afraid. And even as her bridesmaids walk out – Bobbi, Daisy, Jane, and Sif, each woman squeezing her hand and trying to transfer their own strength to her – she wishes desperately that Ward was there.

Then it’s her turn, and she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes and repeats to herself that she can do this as she steps forward through the dark oak doors that are held open for her. The front of the church is simple – wood paneling and stone floors – and for a moment she doesn’t see him.

His back is to her. She assumes it’s her groom but then he turns and she wonders how she’s managed to summon Ward to her. It doesn’t matter. She feels monstrously better just from his being present.

She holds up her dress so she can cross the distance with some speed. “Ward,” she whispers, reaching for his hand because she can’t help herself, “what are you doing –“ and then she sees the circlet on his head and she freezes.

“Princess,” he says, and takes the hand that’s hanging limply in the air between them and he presses a kiss to her palm. “Jemma,” and it _is_ Ward but he’s never said her name and, “I never meant to lie to you. I just wanted to meet you and then…” He shrugs and she’s never seen him look so helpless.

Vaguely she’s aware that their musical cue is playing, but she feels like she’s dreaming and she’s afraid if she moves it will shatter around her. “Ward…” she marvels, and curls her hand against his cheek, “are you…really?”

“You should probably call me Grant,” he offers, his own hand curling around hers, "Ward is my middle name."

The cue plays again and she startles pulling her hand away and adjusting her dress. They’re certainly going to have words about him waiting until now to tell her but – she doesn’t want to leave everyone waiting too long. Also, the sooner they get out there the sooner she can kiss him – for real this time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Comments make me smile.
> 
> My writing tumblr can be found [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/)! Come say hi!


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